


Trainhoppers

by SompnolentPoppy



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Isabel is 50 percent angst, Multi, Referenced Physical Abuse, Runaways AU, Slow Burn, but mostly an idiot, johnny's an idiot in love, non-spectral au, set in the early 90s, so au I might as well have changed their names and called it original fiction, the other 50 percent is willingness to fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SompnolentPoppy/pseuds/SompnolentPoppy
Summary: Isabel ran away when she was eleven, clutching a red umbrella and her foster brothers hand like a lifeline. She has no plans to stop running anytime soon. Johnny left foster care at twelve, he's determined to get her to stop running long enough for him to join her.Abandoned





	1. There She Goes - or Johnny and the Umbrella Girl

It’s somewhere in Oregon; there’s always more camps up north during the summer. Johnny comes up since it’s a good escape from the city, but he knows plenty of people do it to get away from the heat.

Not that July isn’t hot in Oregon. Johnny’s using his leather jacket as a blanket and he’s rolled up his jeans and shirt sleeves. Any more layers and he’d be sweltering. As is he’s comfortably warm, lazing in the sun listening to a cassette tape

 

_“There she goes_

_There she goes again”_

 

There’s a few folks wandering by his spot, and Johnny is lazily watching them pass. Most are some variant of scruffy and adult, a couple of teens too, but not so many his age. He’s on the banks of sleep when he spots her.

 

For one thing, she looks about his age, but she’s also carrying this amazingly bright red umbrella. It’s clearly seen better days but it’s the brightest thing in the encampment.

 

“ _Racing through my brain_

_And I just can’t contain_

_This feelin’ that remains”_

 

She’s just walking by but Johnny can’t take his eyes off her. She’s scowling at everyone around her, and he’s mildly surprised no one’s taken her up on the fight she’s asking for. But then again, based on the scrapes he sees through her torn jeans and the bruise blooming on her jaw, someone’s indulged her not too long ago.

 

Watching her fists held tight at her sides, he wonders who won that fight.

 

_“There she blows_

_There she blows again”_

 

It’s a day or two after he sees her that Johnny’s hears the shouting. He’d just gone into town, and he’s mildly intrigued by the prospect of something interesting happening

 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” rung out from just into the tree line. It sounded like one of the adults, and a violent one at that.

 

The reply is softer, but no less firm “That’s my stuff, give it back.”

 

Johnny is pretty sure that a fight’s about to break out, and the second person sounds young enough he’s actively considering lending a hand. He’s all about dealing with your own messes, but there’s nothing fair about an adult taking shit from a kid.

 

“Finders keepers kiddo. Buzz off.”

 

The discussion is escalating fairly fast, and Johnny walks towards the treeline where he can just barely see a group of people surrounding the argument.

 

“No. Give it back, or else I’ll make you give it back.”

 

_“Pulsing thru’ my vein_

_And I just can’t contain_

_This feelin’ that remains”_

 

As he approaches he’s surprised to find he recognizes the smaller figure, though the distinctive red umbrella is a bit of a giveaway. He stops and stares in awe as he watches the girl swing her umbrella around to hit the man across from her in the kneecaps. The man staggers back but doesn’t fall. His face has gone from condescension to shock to anger in the time it took Johnny to walk all the way up to the fight.

 

“You little shit,” the man growls out his words as he stands up, but the girl doesn’t give him time to regroup. She’s snarling as she comes at him, ducking under his clumsy attempt at slapping her out of the way. Stepping into his space she knees him in the groin, and punches him as he hunches over in pain.

 

There’s a brief lapse where she attempts to dodge another wild swing, but it manages to catch her on the cheek and she cries out in pain. The man seems to think he’s won, but the girl grabs at the arm he’s reaching to her with and somehow flips him so he’s lying face down in the dirt. He breathes heavily and rolls over with some effort.

The man, presumably the one who stole her belongings looks at her in shock from where he’d fallen back on the ground as she reached down to pick up a knapsack he’d been holding and spits blood at the ground in front of him and leaves.

 

Johnny wonders if he should be alarmed that he now felt a distinct urge to befriend the girl.

 

_“There she goes_

_There she goes again”_

 

The next time Johnny sees the girl with the umbrella she’s not scowling. She has a bruise on her jaw, but Johnny is struck by the tiny smile on her face as she looks down at a weathered old book. It’s... red, he’s starting to notice a pattern.

 

He was only passing by, but he slowed as much as he could when he hears a quiet snort. She was laughing! He’d only seen her scowl before then, but now he got to see her smile and laugh in the same day. Johnny’s face felt warm, and he ducked his head to the side where she wouldn’t be able to see his red face if she happened to look up.

 

He can’t make out the title but he wonders what she’s reading. Maybe it’s one of those romance books Ollie’s always reading, or the sci-fi one’s Stephen likes. It must be funny to have her laughing like that.

 

The sound of her laughter faded as he walked farther away, but Johnny couldn’t stop the grin that grew on his face.

 

_“She calls my name, pulls my train_

_No one else could heal my pain”_

 

There’s a large group of people gathered at the moment, someone had found an orchard and people had brought large quantities of apples back to camp to share. Johnny’s snagged one, and is set to head back to his set up when he spots her. She’s at the back of the pack, waiting for a share and not paying much attention to her surroundings, but he can hear her humming faintly.

 

He doesn’t even notice as he moves closer to hear better. There’s a distinct melody to the sound, and with a start he realizes it’s one he recognizes. It’s the same song he was playing when he first saw her carrying that bright red umbrella.

 

It’s not until he’s a few paces away that he realizes he’s actually walked up to her.

 

Johnny is uncertain for all of one second, before his impulsiveness gets the better of him. He rummages through his pockets to find the cassette player and the right tape. He slots it in with only the slightest fumble and crosses those last few steps to hold out an earpiece to her.

 

_“And I just can’t contain_

_This feelin’ that remains”_

 

The girl takes the earpiece and he watches her eyes light up as she recognizes the song. He has to stop himself from staring at her, but when he looks up again she’s looking at him. She gestures to him to follow her, and they sit down on a grassy piece of dirt. Johnny sticks his hands in his pocket, takes them out, and puts them back in again. He can’t even hear the song playing in his right ear.

 

Her leg brushes his and he decides that this is the perfect time to eat the apple he was just given. He pulls it and a pocket knife out and proceeds to start slicing it up. Anything is better than dealing with the warmth of her calf, or the way her hair is falling into her face as she listens intently.

 

Johnny is suddenly aware that he is both blushing and no longer carving his apple. He pops a piece into his mouth and holds one out to the girl as he looks away in an attempt at nonchalance.

 

She takes it and eats it in small bites. Johnny begins carving slices with renewed energy, but the song is fading into its last notes. As the tape begins to play the first measures of the next song, she stands, hands back the earpiece with an awkward half-smile and walks away.

 

Johnny nicks his thumb with the pocket knife as she walks off, and curses under his breath.

 

_“There she goes_

_There she goes again”_

 

It’s unseasonably cloudy for the end of July. He’s aware that it shouldn’t rain, or at least not enough that ground is too muddy come night time, but he’s cautious enough to move his stuff to somewhere more sheltered. Or at least he remembers the last five lectures Stephen gave him about the unpredictability of weather and how that was a sign of the incoming apocalypse.

 

Johnny was just picking up his sweatshirt when it started. First a drop on his nose, and then as he crosses his eyes to look at it, he feels the next few drops hit his face.

 

“Shit.”

 

He grabs his sweatshirt and his backpack and bolts. He knows a spot that’ll be sheltered from rain, but he’s not sure he’ll make it before the drizzle turns into a downpour. In the corner of his eye he sees a flash of red and immediately changes course.

 

“HEY UMBRELLA GIRL!”

 

She’s startled and he can tell, but this is no time to apologize or waste time admiring the way her hair curled more than usual in the humidity.

 

“LET ME IN UMBRELLA GIRL”

 

She’s outright gaping at him as he darts underneath her beat up umbrella. He grins at her unrelentingly, as he pants a little.

 

“Shit, it’s really coming down, thanks for the save.”

 

“What the fuck,” she’s still startled but she seems to have processed the current situation, “you’re welcome?”

 

Johnny laughs a little awkwardly, “Oh shoot here…” he rummages through a backpack pocket to fish out his cassette player,  “... reciprocation!”

 

The girl takes the offered earpiece with a look of perplexed acceptance.

 

_“And I just can’t contain_

_This feelin’ that remains”_

 

The girl looks up at him something challenging in her expression, “You really like this song don’t you?”

 

Johnny hadn’t intended to play the song again, but that was the cassette inside the player.

 

“You’re one to talk Umbrella Girl, you were the one humming it!”

 

She snorts a little and smiles at him. The urge to pump his fist in victory is quickly suppressed, but he’s grinning nonetheless.

 

“Isabel,” she says, “My name’s not Umbrella Girl, call me Isabel.”

 

He smiles at that, he’s glad to learn her name. It suits her.

 

“Well it’s too late now, you’ve been carrying around a bright red umbrella, so now you’re Umbrella Girl.”

 

He’s a little panicked now, and his mouth is definitely moving faster than his brain, but he’s hoping she’ll go for a little good natured teasing.

 

“Ha!” she’s laughing so he must have done something right, “I guess I’ll have to call you Cherry Top.”

 

It takes him a second to realize she’s talking about his hair, but by the time he does, his face is red enough to match the descriptor too.

 

“Did you just call me a Shirley Temple look-a-like?!"

 

She’s bending over a little with laughter, and Johnny’s getting splashed a little by rain, but he’s never felt better in his life. If he can just keep her laughing, he would never need anything else.

 

“I ain't got no curly cues, Umbrella Girl," Johnny’s on a roll, he’s just saying whatever comes to mind, but it’s working and she’s holding her stomach with laughter.

 

“Oh my god, Cherry Top,” she’s gasping a little as she speaks, “calm the hell down.”

 

“No but seriously, ‘cherry top'? Where you from, the thirties? Ol’ folks home?” He’s grinning at her, “Call me Johnny.”  

 

_“There she goes_

_There she goes again_

_There she goes_

_There she goes again”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is There She Goes by The La's. I've one and a half more chapters written at the moment, but I'm a college student so I can't promise anything aside from an update before Christmas. If you want to hit me up on tumblr, my username is Somniens. Thanks to Glow, Kassie, Katie and Lain for all their help and support.
> 
> update: I drew some art  
> http://thecurseofscotland.tumblr.com/post/171394957215/coloring-some-of-the-requests-for-earlier-heres


	2. Crash - or this Kid's an Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabel: oh gosh.... mysterious cute walkman boy...  
> Isabel, wiser: there's tree idiot

_ “Here you go _

_ Way too fast _

_ Don’t slow down _

_ Gonna crash” _

She wouldn’t have noticed him if not for the bright red hair. He’s sitting on the outskirts of the group, listening to a cassette player with headphones in. But he’s a spot of calm amidst the group of people surrounding the campfire.

Isabel is a little entranced watching the play of the fire against the deep red of his hair. She’s convinced it’s dyed, but there's some lighter bits near his roots so maybe he’s a natural ginger too.

If it had been a few years earlier she might have approached him, but she had grown more comfortable with her isolation. She could settle for watching the brightly haired boy smiling and tapping his foot to music she couldn’t hear.

_ “You should watch _

_ Watch your step _

_ Don’t look out _

_ Gonna break your neck” _

The next time she sees him, Isabel realizes she might have had a false impression of the redhead. He’s trying to climb a tree. Trying being the keyword. He’s circling it at the moment, but he’s already gone at it from a few different angles with little success.

The result of his previous attempts is obvious in his skinned knees and foul expression. She’s not entirely sure he’s beyond kicking the tree in retribution.

And he’s trying again. She’s becoming aware of how invested she is in his attempts. He’s making for a knot below one of the lower branches. He grabs it but fails to launch himself at the branch and falls down. She thinks he’ll give up then, but he lifts himself and makes to try again.

Isabel is leaning forward completely entranced by his inability to climb the tree. He tries the same thing again, and just as she’s beginning to doubt his mental aptitude, he successfully latches onto the branch and gets a face full of rough bark as a reward.

He’s hanging upside down like a particularly scruffy sloth but manages to twist his way around until he’s properly settled. She giggles as he looks around as if to check for witnesses, and then proceeds to casually lean back in an obvious attempt to look cool.

With his task accomplished, Isabel can’t seem to find a reason to stick around and observe the kid in the tree. She glances back to take one last look, and he’s pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.

She turns and leaves before the smell of tobacco can reach her, but she aches with the memory of the scent.

_ “So shut shut your mouth _

_ ‘Cause I’m not listening anyhow _

_ I’ve had enough enough of you _

_ You know to last a lifetime through” _

The tree idiot was at it again. Isabel might have felt like a creep, watching him wade into the river half-naked, but there was nothing attractive about the scene she’d happened upon.

His boots and clothing lay in disarray on top of a nearby stump, as he hopped about in the chilly water. At first glance, she’d thought he’d lost something and was halfway to the river to lend a hand before she realized he was grinning far too much for that to be the case. Now she was sitting a little out of sight watching the boy scamper through the water and occasionally dive under the surface.

He popped up after an impressively awkward dive with a rock in his hand. Maybe… maybe he was looking for rocks? But no, he’d proceeded to lob it viciously at something under the water. She could have told him that was a stupid plan.

Caught up thinking of the purpose of his antics, she hadn’t noticed him striding purposefully out of the water. She fell back a little, worried he might come to yell at her for snooping, but he simply reached down for a long stick lying on the shore before charging back into the water with a triumphant shout.

As she watched him stalk through the water with the stick held aloft like some form of makeshift spear she realized what he was doing.

He was attempting to catch a fish.

If not for the hand over her mouth and the commotion the boy was making, Isabel was sure he’d have noticed her uncontrolled snorting. Her stomach hurt from laughing as she clutched at it and watched the boy’s ungraceful attempts at spearfishing.

_ “So what do you want of me _

_ Got no word of sympathy _

_ And if I go around with you _

_ You know that I’ll get messed up too with you with you” _

It’s a few days later when she next sees him, someone had grabbed a ton of apples and was handing them out. The others in the encampment crowded around them, but she stayed back and waited for the crowd to subside a little as she hummed a song. It had been a hit on the radio when she and Ed were still in foster care. It was just some catchy love song about watching someone you liked walk by, but the melody had stuck with her.

She was a little caught up in the song and blinked in surprise to find the tree idiot standing in front of her an earbud held up to her. He’s quieter in this moment, he’s lacking that manic grin, and instead has a tentative smile.

It’s that smile that gets her, her hand moves almost involuntarily as she takes the earbud and puts it in her ear. Isabel’s grinning in delight as she realizes he must have heard her humming since he starts that same song. She motions for him to sit with her as she listens intently.

She’s standing close to him, the earbuds don’t have too long of a reach to begin with, but his leather jacket smells like cigarettes and she’s gripping tightly at the edge of her sweater, her knuckles white with effort.

It would have been enough to be brought back to her grandfather’s apartment by the smell of tobacco, but the song was one she’d discovered with ed, and here was this kid smiling at her and handing her bits of apple to eat. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so nice, and it was so clearly out of character for him based on the last few times she’d seen him.

Isabel bit her lip to keep her turbulent emotions under control. She couldn’t storm out on him, not with him looking at her with those warm brown eyes, so she sat and weathered his kindness even as she wanted to rip the earbuds out.

As the last notes of the song fade out, Isabel stands and smiles awkwardly at him. Handing back the earbud she walks off, tension pulling at her muscles. She needed a tree or an asshole to take out some of her frustration on.

_ “Here you go _

_ Way too fast _

_ Don’t slow down _

_ Gonna crash” _

It’s lucky she still has the umbrella.

She blinks and shakes her head, luck has nothing to do with it. Izzy has gotten her arm broken, and almost been arrested in her determination to keep the umbrella. The rain is hitting a repetitive pattern against the red fabric overhead, and her grip tightens on the worn wooden handle.

“HEY UMBRELLA GIRL!”

She trips and almost falls over, it’s only his warm hand on her elbow that saves her from a face full of mud.

“LET ME IN UMBRELLA GIRL”

It’s the boy; she’s caught between the dual images of his soft eyes as he shared his music with her, and the look on his face when he slammed into the branch of a tree.

As he is now, he’s got a raindrop rolling down the line of his nose, and strands of his bright red hair are plastered to his forehead. She hadn't realized he had freckles, but with both of them crammed under the umbrella, she’s stuck following their spread across the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, it’s really coming down, thanks for the save.” He’s speaking and Isabel realizes she’s actually never heard him speak.

Off balance, she loses any filter she might have had, “What the fuck,”  she takes a moment to recoup her thoughts and form some sort of comprehensible response. “you’re welcome?”

“Oh shoot here…”

The next thing she knows he’s offering her an earbud again, but this time his smile is wider and a tad sharper in a way that makes her wonder if he’s any good in a fight.

“... reciprocation!” she can’t help the corner of her mouth quirking up in response to his grin as she takes the earbud. She snorts a little as she recognizes the song playing and the slight flush on his cheeks makes her want to needle the wound.

“You really like this song don’t you?” and his blush deepens. If Isabel were a less subtle person she’d be grinning victoriously, as it is she contains her glee and only raises her eyebrow in a challenging expression.

She’s a little sad that he recovers, he’s grinning again and now he leans in to challenge her, “You’re one to talk Umbrella Girl, you were the one humming it!”

As much as she loved being referred to by her umbrella, she didn’t want to spend the rest of the conversation that way. “Isabel,” she said smiling a little more gently, “My name’s not Umbrella Girl, call me Isabel.”

There’s a moment where he smiles back at her before his expression turns mischievous.

“Well it’s too late now, you’ve been carrying around a bright red umbrella, so now you’re Umbrella Girl.”

The humor takes her off guard, and she lets out a huff of laughter,  “I guess I’ll have to call you Cherry Top.”

She’d thought about calling him tree idiot, as he’d been named in her thoughts, but then she’d have to explain how she watched him climb the tree. It was hard to say who would be more embarrassed if that came out.

“Did you just call me a Shirley Temple look-a-like?!" The offense on his face has her laughing and holding her stomach. Her laughter feels a little too loud and her cheeks are warm as he continues his tirade

“I ain't got no curly cues, Umbrella Girl,"

She wishes she could stop laughing, she hates his stupid face and his stupid smile, and the way her stomach feels a touch queasy.

Mustering some inner strength she gasps out a reply, “Oh my god, Cherry Top,” she has to pause to breathe, her frame still shaking with laughter, “calm the hell down.”

He looks victorious at having incapacitated her with laughter. He grins as he replies “No but seriously, ‘cherry top'? Where you from, the thirties? Ol’ folks home?”

There’s a pause where Izzy is captivated by the easy grin on his face before he continues, “Call me Johnny.” 

Isabel spends the walk to Johnny’s campsite warring between the urge’s to either leave the idiot to his own devices or shove him into the mud.

In the end, she shoves him into the mud, and he pulls her down with him.

_ “You don’t know _

_ What’s been going down _

_ You’ve been running _

_ All over town” _

A week later she’d given up trying not to be friends with him. There was no arguing with the kind of idiocy that was convinced that Bigfoot was real and also on the run from the FBI for being an anarchist.

It was a good thing she’d met him too. The girl she’d been traveling with, Jeanie, had gotten a boyfriend and it wasn’t smart to travel on your own as a homeless kid, let alone a girl. When Jeanie started disappearing for the nights it was enough that Isabel could pester Johnny into hanging out with her and letting her lay out a sleeping bag next to his.

Eventually setting up camp next to each other just became normal. When they moved on from that camp and made their way down through the small towns of northern California they stuck together.

It was one of those first nights, under a highway pass, that Johnny and Isabel sat close together messing with a deck of cards and occasionally flicking them at each other.

“My mum taught me this,” Johnny’s doing something elaborate with the cards, getting them to fold in on themselves before he spreads them out in front of him in one smooth motion, “she was a dealer in Vegas for a bit.”

Isabel looks at him skeptically, but he grins and shakes his head at her “We should play two truths and a lie if you don’t believe that! I’ve half a dozen that sound weirder.”

She pulls at a loose thread on the hem of the shirt she’s wearing before smiling at him with a challenge, “You’re on, but I bet I can catch you out on most of them.”

Isabel watched him think for a bit before his face turns mischievous,“ I lost all but three baby teeth through brute force, my ma punched out a cop, and I’ve been expelled twice.”

There’s a pause where Isabel’s squinting at him as if she could figure it out that way, “...the cop punching bit.”

She knows she’s lost that round when he smirks triumphantly at her. “Nope, my ma’s a badass. He was being a dick to my mum at a protest so ma punched him out. The lie’s the teeth thing. I pulled out three myself and lost a few to getting punched or falling off shit, but I still lost a bunch naturally.”

He grins widely showing off his teeth, and Isabel hides her answering smile by looking off to the side as if to think up her own lies.

“I once held the state title in judo for my age group, I speak three languages, and I’ve never been beat in a thumb wrestling contest,” The last one has her smiling with humor, and she can see him narrow in on her expression.

“Thumb wrestling!” he’s triumphant in his claim, and she takes great pleasure in taking him down a notch.

“Nope! I only speak Spanish and English. My thumb wrestling record remains untarnished.”

His expression drops for a second, but there’s little that can keep Johnny down for long periods of time, “Judo’s one of those karate type sports right? I feel better about how hard you punch now.”

“It’s more about throwing people or holding them down, but my grandpa taught me to throw a decent punch too. I guess you have him to thank for how hard I punch,” she pauses and her expression closes off for a second before she smiles at him with false cheer, “it’s 1-1 let's see how well you lie this time.”

They trade lies, and Isabel loses count of who’s winning their game. It’s getting late and Johnny’s packed away the cards a while back. She’s leaning against him, it’s a cold night, and Johnny runs hot enough that Izzy has a good excuse for seeking that warmth as she gives into sleep. So what if this was the first time someone had touched her without leaving bruises or breaking skin in months, she was entitled to huddle close when it got so cold at night.

She tucks her head closer to his chest as her mind strays and the smell of cigarettes on the jacket draped over them both has become more comforting than bittersweet.

_ “So shut shut your mouth _

_ ‘Cause I’m not listening anyhow _

_ I’ve had enough enough of you _

_ Enough to last a lifetime through” _

Somewhere in California, Isabel wanders through the aisles of an old department store. She can’t afford most of the things on the shelves, but it’s nice to be in the warm store and if she can find a bathroom she might be able to wash up a little.

Or force Johnny to wash up a little.

She couldn’t imagine why she started traveling with the idiot, but she’d get him to bathe semi-regularly if it was the last thing she did. His only saving grace was that the smell of cigarettes drowned out the smell of his own body odor.

And there! The sign pointing to the restrooms was just a few feet away. She looked behind her and spotted red hair a few aisles back. A slow wicked smile spread across her face.

“Hey, Johnny!”

“Yeah?”

“Bath time!” she wished she could take a picture of the look of horror on his face.

He dug his heels into the ground as she dragged him unwillingly into the single restroom before leaning against the door so he couldn’t escape. Muffled yelling sounded out behind her.

She smiled and called out to him “I’ll let you out when you don’t smell like a trashcan.”

The yelling continued for a minute followed by a brief period of silence and then the sound of running water.

As she leaned against the door, the playlist in the store switched songs and Isabel smiled at the catchy tune, humming along under her breath.

_ “So what do you want of me _

_ Got no cure for misery _

_ And if I go around with you _

_ You know that I’ll get messed up too with you with you” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been my favorite chapter to write of the 3 I've written so far, so I hope you enjoyed it! Song is Crash by The Primitives


	3. I'm Going Away - or Izzy's Tragic Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Izzy dance. Also, Francisco is a dick.

_ “I’m going away baby _

_ And I’m going to stay” _

  
  


There’s a song playing on the radio. One of the ones that crackle with static, and makes you sway in your seat. Isabel looks up from a row of butterfingers towards the source of the music and fights the faint smile growing on her face.

A smile’s a rare thing from Isabel these days and Johnny’s lucky to catch it. He walks over from the salted snacks humming under his breath. Grinning as he performs an extravagant bow and holds his hand out to her.

There are tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and she’s startled. For a moment Johnny looks scared that she’s going to start crying on him, but Izzy grins back at him with a grateful look. And he swings her around, so they're dancing together like his mom’s used to when they played their song on the record player.

Johnny’s hands are calloused and warm, not as rough or as big as the ones she remembers. Isabel buries her head in his shoulder as she sways to the music.

“ _ Baby you’re going to miss me _

_ That’s when I go away” _

Years back when the hands holding hers were bigger, and her stomach less empty, Isabel smiles freely. Their small apartment is warm from the radiator in the corner, and Grandpa’s medals hang in a case on the wall. Still, the air resonates with a gravelly voice and the plucked notes of a guitar.

“Abuelo, I’m not tall enough!” a younger version of herself cries out between shrieks of laughter.

“Then Mija looks like I’ll have to stretch you out a little,” here the gruff older man brings her arms upwards so she’s standing on her toes.

“Abuelo! I can’t dance like this!” the small girl glares at her grandfather imperiously.

His laughter is warm and rough as he bends over and scoops the tyrannical five-year old into his arms, “Here Isabel, like this we can dance.”

They sway back and forth as the warmth of the older man’s embrace and the tune of the song lull Isabel to sleep.

_ “You know you weren’t true _

_ Baby, I believed in you” _

Isabel grows taller, tall enough she doesn’t need her grandfather’s support to dance. Sometimes though, sometimes it was nice to pretend that she did. Her grandpa always smelt of cigars and cinnamon; like the promise of hot chocolate on a cold day.

Today though was hot. And hot days they turned off the radiator, jimmied open the single working window in the apartment and climbed onto the fire escape. Grandpa had to move his record player closer to the window in order to drown out the telenovelas Mrs. Mendoza was playing next door. But out here, with the wisps of smoke drifting upwards with the noise of traffic from below, Isabel could sink down to the cold metal of the staircase and snack on the jicama and lime she stole from the fridge.

“Hey Abuelo, you forgot your ashtray inside.”

Isabel glanced up to see her grandfather staring out at the brick wall, his cigar fallen out of his hand and dangerously close to her pant leg.

“Abuelo! Watch out, you’re gonna burn me if you're not careful!”

It’s a delayed reaction but he startles and grips the banister as he turns to look at her, his eyes briefly unfocused. As recognition dawns, he looks down in surprise at the smoldering cigar in alarm.

“Mierda, sorry Isabel, go grab that cigarette tray for me.”

She groans, but gets up and puts the container of jicama off to the side, where thieving grandfathers can’t reach. On her way back from grabbing his ashtray, Isabel stops by the record player taking a moment to lift the needle and push it back to the beginning of their favorite song.

_ “I am brokenhearted just, _

_ Oh the way you do” _

There were times, when Grandpa was in a bad mood, that he put the record player on one of the higher shelves. Out of reach of her attempts to bring back the warmth she associated with his embrace.

“It makes my head hurt Mija, give your Abuelo a rest.”

But Isabel didn’t like how cramped the apartment felt without music. Just the battered old sofa a rickety set of table and chairs, Isabel’s mattress opposite the kitchenette, and four walls pressed tight around them.

He spent more days as of late, with eyes clouded; muttering under his breath about things that had happened long before she was born.

She used to love singing songs in Spanish to her grandpa and listening to him tell her old stories his tias used to tell him, but as things got worse his native language began to be a warning sign more than a comfort.

When she could hear his tongue heavy with Spanish was when Isabel learned to fade into the background, let him smoke his cigars and grumble to himself. Nothing good could come of her interference.

The last time she’d interfered she’d been chased out of the house while he swung his old red umbrella at her. She didn’t understand it, but he’d been yelling at her and calling her a thief.

Sometimes though, sometimes when he went into that fog he’d talk about her grandma. It was the only time Izzy ever heard about her. Nena was what he called her, but Izzy knew from Mrs. Mendoza that Nena was probably a nickname for someone whose name ended with Elena. Maria Elena? Rosa Elena? Sofia Elena? She wished she knew her abuela’s name.

He’d said her hair was the same.

"Ven aqa chica, you look just like my novia, she has the same beautiful dark hair as you. Have you met Nena? she's the prettiest girl in the entire barrio.”

She wouldn’t mind his clouded eyes if he’d only talk about her grandma more.

_ “You never gave me no lovin’ _

_ That’s why I’m goin' away” _

She’d been quiet coming in the front door, hoping her grandfather was in his room. That she could get out on the fire escape or hide in her bed sheets before he saw the way her arm bloomed with yellow and green bruises. But, he’d been sitting at the table, leafing through a paperback book with a cowboy on the cover.

 

“You’re just like your padre, weak forever. Get pushed around by some puta just cause you can’t fight back. I don’t have no idea why I taught you fighting if you just hide like some little coward.”

 

Isabel’s holding her bruised arm and glaring at the floor. It wasn’t her fault the other kid beat her. She was only nine and he had two years over her and more than a few inches. 

Some people said you can’t avoid your problems, but Izzy begged to differ. In her experience avoiding problems was the ultimate solution. For instance, if she kept staring at the worn knot in the hardwood floor instead of acknowledging her grandpa, then this conversation would be over a lot faster.

 

“You’re just like Esteban, lazy and stupid…”

She stopped listening as he began another rant about how useless and like her father she was, she bit her tongue as she considered what he might say if she retorted on the subject of his own inability to go buy groceries as of late. Probably nothing nice.

In some ways they were equally useless, Isabel might be a disappointment but at least she knew what year it was.

_ “Never be no sunshine, it’s gonna always be rain _

_ Honey, you goin' to want me to come back again” _

It wasn’t the season for rain, not that seasons were stopping the downpour outside. Isabel had taped the leaky window shut with some newspaper to stop the worst of the dripping. Grandpa said he’d fix it two weeks ago, but then seemed startled to realize the window was leaky a week later.

She frowned and looked toward her grandfather's room.

“Abuelo, you finish breakfast yet?” she had wanted to make eggs for breakfast but Grandpa had forgotten to give her the money for groceries. On days like these, she was glad they almost always seemed to have oatmeal stashed in a cabinet somewhere.

If it was a good day today maybe he’d remember the money and she could get some fresh food for the night. If it was a bad day… if it was a bad day it would likely mean eating oatmeal or seeing if Mrs. Mendoza had any leftovers she didn’t need.

Maybe if she put the record on, he would remember better. Sometimes it worked that way. She pulled the record player down and pulled out a faded album.

The sleeve was yellowed and torn a little at the top, the record inside beginning to skip in spite of the reverent treatment it had received in the Guerra’s home. As she places the record carefully down, she hums a few bars of the song.

The opening notes trail behind her as she peeks her head into her grandpa’s room. He’s sitting on the bed gazing at the scuffed white wall in front of him. Next to him sits a mostly eaten bowl of oatmeal. She approaches carefully and gently pats his arm.

“Abuelo, can I have money for groceries?” she speaks softly and his eyes brighten as he comes back to her, shaking his head as if to dislodge himself further from the daze.

“Si mija, let me just get it,” he reaches into the drawer of the bedside table for the money and Isabel bites her lip before risking one more request.

“and your red umbrella?” she’s hesitant but the other umbrella has holes and she’s afraid she’ll really be soaked if she goes without it. Even then, she regrets asking as he turns towards her with intensity.

“No,” he doesn't even think about it.

Isabel considers arguing for it, but she’s well acquainted with her grandfather’s stubbornness. Instead, resigned to being soaked she takes his plate to the sink.

She nearly drops the plate when she hears a knock at the door. She can’t even imagine who might be knocking on the door at ten in the morning. Putting the plate down she walks over to the door and looks through the peephole.

Mr. Mendoza is there with a short and plump African American woman whose twisted hair is pulled back into a bun. She had visited the week before but Isabel had already forgotten her name. 

 

Opening the door causes the woman to smile brightly at her, something that immediately unnerves Isabel. Mr. Mendoza steps past Isabel into the apartment and gazes around disdainfully.

Confused, Isabel falters and then pulls at the hem of her shirt nervously, “I’ll go get my Abuelo.”

She retreats to her grandpa’s room quickly and sees him rifling through his cigars.

“Abuelo?” she ventures meekly, “Mr. Mendoza and the lady from last week are here.”

He turns towards her with a scowl and mutters under his breath as he exits his room to meet them. Isabel hangs back in the doorway to his room.

“Hi there Mr. Guerra, unfortunately after the results of last weeks home visit we’ve decided to move Isabel out of your home,” The woman’s voice is nice, but as Isabel realizes what’s going on she stares at her grandpa hoping that he can stop the social worker from taking her away.

“You can not enter my house and take Isabel. I’m her grandfather, you don't have any right.”

His figure is tense, and Isabel retreats farther into his room as she sees the rising threat of violence in his clenched fist. Unfortunately, Mr. Mendoza sees her retreat and makes to brush his way past her grandfather and retrieve her. As he does, Isabel watches wide-eyed as her grandpa swings at him as he passes.

The blow hits him on the side of his jaw, and he glares at Isabel’s grandfather as he rubs it.

 

“This is  _ exactly _ why Maria and I don’t think Isabel should stay here,” Mr. Mendoza takes a breath and glances back at Isabel, “you think I don’t know you send her out to buy your cigars and alcohol? Or how about the bruises from  _ judo training. _ ”

 

“Pendejo, what do you know?” Grandpa is spitting with rage, “I’ve done my best I don’t have my mujer to help me, Nena left, Esteban left, you try raising a kid like this.”

 

He grabs Isabel’s arm and pulls her from his room to stand behind him.

 

Mr. Mendoza refuses to back down, “I know Isabel keeps coming around to beg food off my wife, you don’t even feed her. She can’t live like this.”

 

Isabel could feel the tears trailing down her cheeks as chaos descends around her, her grandfather’s hand is tight on her arm, his knuckles purpled with bruises and spotted brown by age. When she looks up, Mr. Mendoza is looking back at her with sad eyes he moves forward his arm outstretched to take hold of her, but her grandfather lets go of her arm and charges towards him with a wordless shout.

 

Isabel stumbles back as her grandfather collides with Mr. Mendoza. The social worker moves to block her from the fight, but she strains to see her grandfather. His chest is heaving, and blood is beginning to pool at the side of his mouth. He takes another step forward and Isabel’s line of sight is blocked again by the woman.

 

A shout is followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then two thuds.

 

Isabel peers round the other side of the social worker. Both men sit on the floor breathing heavily, though Mr. Mendoza is the first to stand. As he does he stares Isabel’s grandfather down where he sits.

 

The woman turns to her and kneels to her level, “Isabel, I need you to go grab your things.”

 

Isabel glances towards her grandfather, “Abuelo?” but he doesn’t meet her eyes.

 

Shoulders down she walks meekly to the small dresser where her clothes are, picking up her backpack on the way. She can feel the adults looking at her, and her shoulders hunch in farther as if she could shrink and disappear from sight. 

 

Hands shaking, she stuffs shirts blindly into the bag as her vision blurs with tears. The drawers empty far too soon, her bag conspicuously light as she turns to face the adults.

 

The woman approaches her now walking slowly and Isabel resents the implication of weakness. 

 

“Isabel, I didn’t get to reintroduce myself earlier, I’m Miss Day. I’m your caseworker, and I’ll be taking care of you till we can work this out, alright?” The woman reaches down to touch her shoulder but stops when Isabel flinches and glares at her through her tears.

 

Isabel turns her glare to the floorboards as she reluctantly heads to the door of the apartment. She’s past tears at this point, her posture full of the bitterness of a kid who's learned to expect the worst. Her jaw clenched she ignores the soft assurances of the social worker as she assures Isabel’s grandfather of the bureaucratic fail-safes of the system. Assuring him they’d do her best to see her adopted by a family or the local community. 

 

Finally, the social worker stops talking. 

“Do you have an umbrella?” the woman was smiling at her, but Isabel just wanted to scream, “It’s pouring out there, so it might be better if we don’t have to share.”

Grandpa growled, shoved off the arm of Mr. Mendoza and walked into his room. Isabel looked at the floor. She noticed distantly that the record they'd so carefully maintained was skipping. The social worker was speaking, but Isabel didn’t bother paying any attention to her.

A clang sounded from her grandfather’s room, and Isabel startled. Her grandfather emerged from his room and pushed past Mr. Mendoza. He put a hand on her shoulder, and Isabel suddenly realized he was holding his good umbrella in his other hand and pushing it into hers.

“Mija, take it,” his voice was rough with emotion and Isabel started sobbing. “I’ll sort this out. They’re not gonna take you from me.”

He pushed the umbrella more firmly into her hands, and she grabbed it at last.

“You know I’d never let you take this if I didn’t think you’d bring it back.” He was smiling now, but that only made Isabel more sure something was truly wrong. Her hands gripped tight at the rough red fabric.

“Go on Nena, I’ll see you soon.”

 

Isabel stares at him, his eyes looking past her. She doesn’t bother to correct him. 

Outside, rain is inescapable. Isabel pushes opened her grandfather’s red umbrella and made her way into the grey downpour.

_ “You never gave me no lovin’ _

_ That’s why I’m goin’ away” _

In the convenience store, Johnny twirls her around and pulls her back. Isabel takes the chance to bury her face into his jacket and hide the tears pricking at her eyes. The song on the radio fades out, and soon enough they’re no longer dancing. Isabel stands there hugging Johnny for a brief moment before pulling out of his grasp and discretely wiping her eyes.

“You dance pretty poncy for a guy in a leather jacket.”

“At least I don’t trudge around like an elephant at the sound of music.” He’s grinning wickedly at her and winks as he discretely slides a few snacks into his jacket pocket, before walking calmly out of the store. Isabel laughs as she holds a wrapped brownie casually at her side and follows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not trying to say the emotional and physical abuse in this chapter is attributed to dementia or ptsd, Izzy’s gramps was an asshole before he acquired either of those, that said those traits definitely got worse with the stress and confusion of mental illness. Anyways if you have questions about this chapter or complaints about the portrayal of mental illness please hit me up I tried really hard not to fall into bad stereotypes and do this justice but I’m always open to feedback. Special kudos to glowstickia for her expert help regarding degenerative mental disorders.


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